


The Resurrection of Bronco Billy

by ShinobiCyrus



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Cowboy drawl courtesy of Firefly, Gen, Just you wait - Freeform, Originally Posted on Tumblr, and maybe a little steampunk too, cowboys and ghosts and train jobs oh my, good work Ghost Hat, the Evil Lightbulb haunts your dreams, this was so fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinobiCyrus/pseuds/ShinobiCyrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I was looking for Fenton Works." The strange girl dressed all in black looked around the shabby barn-house dubiously.  "…would this be it?"</p><p>"Yes ma’am, that's us," Danny said. "Fenton Works: we’ll shoe your horse, fix your wagon, and then hunt down the doggone ghost that spooked your horse. At least, that’s what the sign says."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Resurrection of Bronco Billy

"Okay…pull!"

Tucker yanked the lever, launching a pair of spinning clay disks across the barn.

Danny spun about, poncho a swirl of black and white, and shot them out of the with air with two ecto-beams fired from his fingers like a gunslinger.

"Pull!"

Working another set of levers, Tucker fired off two more launchers at the other end of the lab. The plates rocketed straight towards Danny’s face so quickly he could almost make out the childish ghost faces painted on them before dispatching them with a one-two shot from his imaginary pistols.

"Come on, dazzle me!"

More launchers heaved themselves out of floor and wall panels, filling the air with a flurry of clay disks that flew at him from every direction. Danny leapt high and stood on empty air, taking out a pair of targets at opposite directions, then crisscrossed his arms to blast another two. Spinning ‘round, he took off his black stetson with a flourish and threw it like a discus, where it abruptly changed direction mid-air and began hunting the fragile plates like a thing possessed.

"Now you’re just showboatin’," Tucker accused.

"Just havin’ a little fun, Tuck," Danny twisted his arm behind his back and managed a trick shot for the last target. Awful smug with himself, he lifted up his hand and caught his cowboy hat as it finished its victory circuit around the barn. “Good work, ghost-hat."

"You’re getting to be pretty good at that," Tucker said."These contraptions your Dad built for practice shootin’ work pretty well."

"A mite more useful than that runaway wagon with the motor that drove itself off a cliff."

"Or the Fenton Ecto-Incandescent," Tucker said, and the two boys spared a glance at the work table where a light bulb glowed an eerie green and shuddered with the faint whispers of suffering souls.

Danny shuddered. "I hate that thing."

The Fenton Farm didn’t do much in the way of farming, anymore. With the the exception of Spooky, Danny’s cloud-white horse, his parents had converted most of the stables into a workshop for all manner ghostly experiments. He could see how a few of the folks back in town could get to thinking there was something wicked going on- most people see queer green lights flashing at a farmhouse in the distance, their first instinct is not to assume that __science_ _ was happening.

The bank of target launchers folded themselves back into their hiding places as Tucker reset each of the levers. “So I was shoppin’ in town yesterday and heard about some newcomers that pulled in talking about a metal devil-man trying to pull a robbery on ‘em."

"That right?" Danny mused. “That story maybe include the dramatic arrival of a handsome hero that saved the day and chased off the rotten scoundrel?"

"Nah, just more stuff about that crazy ghost kid, what’s his name again? Bronco Billy, wasn’t it?"

"Your mouth-parts is making all manner of stupid noises again, Tuck. Might wanna talk to a doctor ‘bout that."

Tucker continued to have a good laugh at his expense while Danny tried steering the subject away from what Amity's so-called newspapers had gone to calling the local ghost-hero. “The thing I can’t figure for the life of me is what Skulker was doin’ holding up a train-car like a proper robber. I mean, what’s a ghost want with people-money?"

"I dunno," Tucker shrugged. “Where does a ghost get to building a steam-powered suit of armor?

"I try not to dwell on more than one unanswerable question at a time," Danny said. “By the way, I had to make the dramatic exit fightin’ off Skulker- were the folks okay when the train got to town?"

"Well, some of them were right confused until we explained the situation to them- which of course only confused ‘em further. A few others were just scared witless and kissin’ their crosses."

Danny shrugged. “Guess some people just don’t take to Amity."

"They don’t like it, they could always just keep goin’ west ‘till they hit water."

"Now that'ere that welcoming spirit people look forward to out in the-"

An unexpected knock on the barn door made them jump.

"Quick!" Danny hissed to Tucker. “Pretend to look busy!"

"Like usual, then," he saluted and grabbed a broom.

The knocking continued as Danny crossed the barn. Halfway to the door, rings of the light swept across his body, wiping away the figure of the white-haired, black clad ghost-cowboy into a normal, messy-haired boy in patchwork farm clothes and beaten leather apron.

Danny Fenton unbolted the barn door and pulled it open, and almost yelped in surprise.

The young lady waiting on the door surveyed him with inquisitive, violet eyes. The severity of her dress threw Danny off some; the black blouse and smart purple lapel vest was proper enough for a funeral, but her black skirt was scandalously short enough to show ankle. Her dark hair, neatly tucked back in a bun, was covered by a black, flat-top derby hat made for riding.

Danny blinked dumbly at her, unsure whether he should offer his condolences, blush, or call a preacher. Such an unusual woman would be utterly unforgettable- which is exactly why he recalled her instantly from the day before. On the train.

Of course, as he was now, she there was no way she could recognize __him._ _

"Uh…may I help you, ma’am?"

"Yes," the lady said. Her gloved hands smoothed out her skirt before she picked up a black leather case lying on the dirt next to her. “I was looking for Fenton Works." She looked around the shabby barn-house dubiously. "…would this be it?"

"Yes ma’am, that's us. Fenton Works: we’ll shoe your horse, fix your wagon, and then hunt down the doggone ghost that spooked your horse. At least, that’s what the sign says." he nodded up, at the bright yellow board above the door adorned with a smiling cartoon likeness of Jack Fenton.

The sign seemed to do little to alleviate her doubts. “I…see. Would the purveyors happen to be available? I have some business I’d like to discuss."

"Well, that would be my folks, actually, and they’re off hunt-I mean fixin’ up Mr. Lancer’s schoolhouse back in town." His eyes drifted down to her ankles. "But I’d be glad to help you if I can."

He stepped aside and opened the door wider to admit her. She walked briskly past him and almost dropped her bag in surprise.

Outside, the barn house was a sad sight. Its wooden boards were crooked and bent, it creaked ominously at the slightest wind, and it was in powerful need of repainting. This was mostly due his parents having devoted all their attention to its inner workings. Tables were full of vials of colorful chemicals, expensive brass microscopes, tall metal towers that shot sparks of electricity between each other, half-built ghost hunting machines, even one of those new Dutch “writing balls" that let a person _type_ missives quicker than could be written by hand.

Danny chuckled. "Like the sign says: Fenton Works. Best ghost hunters in the Territory."

"Also the __only_ _ ghost hunters in the Territory," Tucker pointed out.

"I’m Danny Fenton, by the way, and that there’s Tucker. He’s an old family friend we hired on."

"Ma’am," Tucker tipped his faded red flat-cap, then went back to sweeping up all the broken clay scattered about.

Getting her wits back, the lady grabbed Danny’s hand and shook it in a very unladylike fashion. “Samantha Manson, but you can just call me Sam."

Tucker snorted.

"I have to say," she said, still taking in the lab. “I heard quite a few interesting tales from the townsfolk about this place, but I never imagined…" she walked over to a table and examined an unfinished brass device that resembled something between a pistol and a lantern.

While her back was turned, Danny wordlessly motioned Tucker to throw a sheet over the Ecto-Incandescent. "I know it all looks awful queer, but there’s nothing sorcerous about it. It’s just science, like a camera or a locomotive."

"You don’t need to try and convince me there are no little demons making these things work. We have scientists back in the big city that play with lighting you can fit in a room. I’m used to the spectacle of mechanical marvels, Mr. Fenton."

"Well, technically there __are_ _ captive ghosts powerin’ a few things in here, but don’t let that get spread around. Last thing we want is the townsfolk to think we’re using the souls of their departed to keep our lights on."

A little laughe escaped her at the joke, and Danny chuckled nervously while eldritch tongues murmured beneath a white sheet. "So…Ms. Manson, what is it exactly that brings you here?"

Her friendly smile made his chest flutter uncomfortably. “Please, just Sam. I hear Ms. Manson and think my mother’s lurking behind me."

Danny felt a heat kiss his ears. “Okay. Sam. Was there something I could do for you?" He smirked. “Broken wagon? Reshoe your horse?"

"Well…it’s just that," she took another wide look at the lab, then took a steadying breath and asked, “Have you ever actually __seen_ _ a ghost?"

"More than I’d care to, honestly."

His quick, thoughtless answer seemed exactly what she needed. “Well yesterday I was introduced to __two_ _ and can’t for the life of me sort out what to do with myself."

"This wouldn't happen to be about that business on the train that happened recently?" At her surprised look he quickly explained, “I just heard it ‘round town. News travels fast."

"I’ll bet. One moment I’m sitting on a train, watching the land go by, and the next some metal man with green fire in his eyes comes through the roof like it was a thin curtain and starts demanding everyone’s valuables."

"Let me guess," Danny said. “Sounded like a big grandfather clock when he moved? Shot steam exhaust out his back? Pontificated on the subject of his huntin’ skills?"

"You know him?"

"We’ve…met before. He’s called Skulker- all those gears and metal you saw was just a mechanical clockwork body he possess- what with him being a puny little snotball. He likes to poach folk’s game or steals cattle when he gets bored."

"Oh. I see. Well, just as that ‘Skulker’ comes to my seat looking to poach my parents wallet and jewels, this young…cowboy all in black comes flying in and starts fighting off the scoundrel."

"Cowboy in black, huh?" Tucker said behind Danny, making him jump. “Snow white hair and glowing green eyes?"

"That’s the fellow."

Danny silently fumed as Tucker threw and arm around his shoulder. “Lucky you, Miss, you managed to meet the town’s local spook-wrangling ghost hero, Bronco Billy."

"Bronco Billy?" She laughed. “What kind of name is that for a ghost?"

"Your guess is as good as anyone’s," Tucker shrugged, giving Danny a sidelong look of mischief. "Just what he calls himself."

"Say there, Tuck," Danny growled through grit teeth. “Didn't my folks ask you to clean out Spooky’s pen today?"

"Nope. Don’t rightly recall."

"So this Bronco Billy," Sam went on, not noticing the murderous look Danny was giving his beaming partner. “He’s a ghost that fights other ghosts? Wouldn’t that be bad for business?"

"Not in Amity," Tucker said. “Plenty of ghosts to go around."

"Are there really that many ghosts here?" she asked, with creeping concern. 

"Well, they’re mostly the same ghosts that just come back," Danny assured her. “Is that why you’re here? If you’re looking for some remedies to keep ghosts away, my father grows these flowers that’ll repel any spirit within twenty feet of ‘em, but they’re a bit hard to grow in this climate and tend to lose a lot of their potency when they dry out in the sun…."

"Well, not exactly," she shuffled cagily, weighing some internal debate. “Listen, Mr. Fenton-"

"Please," Danny smiled. “Danny’s fine."

"Okay," she smiled back briefly. “Danny. Could I be frank with you?"

"Much of a man’s name as Sam," Tucker chortled to himself, still leaning on Danny’s shoulder.

Sam and Danny both turned and leveled a glare at him. Wilting under their combined menace, he detached himself from Danny and announced. “I’ll be in Spooky’s stable…"

"I didn’t find this place by accident, Danny," she confessed. “I’ve had an interest in ghosts and all things Weird for some years. Word of all the hauntings in Amity have made it back east, and the name ‘Fenton’ gets mentioned more than once in a few circles. When my Father told us we’d have to be moving out to the Territories for his business, I was actually pleased. Mind you, I expected the stories had gotten awfully exaggerated by the time they reached the city, but I thought at least there would be some interesting distractions. Imagine my surprise when I’m almost robbed by one ghost, then get rescued by another before even arriving into town."

"Uh…I’m not sure I understand what it is you-"

The young lady Manson crossed her arms sternly and gave Danny a look that he’d only ever gotten from his own mother and sister. Sharp, iron-edged, inarguable. That was when Danny fully fathomed this was no prim city girl doll-eyed with stories of the wild frontier she’d read from two-cent trash novels. This was not another Paulina. "I want you to teach me about ghost hunting," she said brusquely. “I want to learn everything you know about them. Where they come from, what they want, how to fight them if the need came…"

"Well, I appreciate your candor Miss- I mean Sam," Danny said carefully. "And as much as I find your interest awful refreshin’, I don’t think it’d exactly be…proper for me to me to teach you that sort of thing. Ghost huntin’ ain’t no place for a young lady-"

A loud, exaggerated cough interrupted him, sounding as though it came from somewhere around the horse stable.

"…is what I __would_ _ say if my momma didn’t have the ability or inclination to beat me to death and then start again on my ghost were I to say things of that nature," Danny finished.

"Good recovery," Sam gave him a tilted, sidelong smile. "So then, where do we start?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this almost a year ago for Phannie May and decided it deserved to be posted after a little polishing. Half-formed follow-ups have always been bouncing around my head for this AU, but in the time being consider this a standalone. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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